


That Quiet Valor

by mllelaurel



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Cooking, D/s, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Praise Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-13
Updated: 2020-07-13
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:47:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25231879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mllelaurel/pseuds/mllelaurel
Summary: Yuri rescues Ashe from his bad decisions at Aillel. It doesn't end there.
Relationships: Ashe Duran | Ashe Ubert/Yuris Leclair | Yuri Leclerc
Comments: 24
Kudos: 131
Collections: FE3H Kink Meme





	That Quiet Valor

The ground burns beneath Yuri’s feet. Claude had warned them about the fumes, instructed them to wrap their faces and avoid the vents. His description hadn’t accounted for the searing wind, the rumbling and shifting ground, the sulfurous stench. 

They call this no-man’s land a smuggler’s heaven. Not like Yuri hasn’t made use of it himself once or twice. Once: to cement a deal with an Alliance buyer. Twice: to take out the trash. 

So he knows this place, this Aillel. Once a forest according to old records. Hard to believe, but he’ll go with it. He knows this is no place for an army. Not theirs, coughing in their scarves. Not Judith von Daphnel’s, on the other side of the wasteland if all goes well. Not Edelgard’s, pray only she’s not here. 

A whisper ripples through their ranks. One of the outriders, probably Ingrid, has spotted an approaching force. Blue in their uniforms, shackled by the Adrestian eagle. The traitor lords. 

You can take the boy out of Western Faerghus, he thinks, but damned if Western Faerghus won’t follow. It’s clingy that way, like a toddler howling for your candy. 

Orders circulate. Hold the line, advance slowly, be ready to engage. The enemy troops rise out of the smoke, and Yuri’s hand freezes on his pommel. 

At the vanguard of the Western army rides Ashe Ubert. He looks older, wearier than the boy Yuri knew back at Garreg Mach. The once-wild curls of his hair have been slicked down. It’s fashionable these days. Even Bernadetta’s made the effort. His eyes glint with a grim determination. 

Ashe’s mare stomps and snorts, fearful of the fires. Ashe clucks to her, then dismounts after she refuses to calm, handing off the reins to a comrade. 

An archer on foot is a ready target. Anyone could pick him off, if they could only get up close. 

“I’ll handle this,” Yuri tells Sylvain to his left, and charges in before anyone can stop him. 

Ashe’s first mistake is waiting to fire until he’s in range. A target in range is one who’s already killed you, as Shamir is fond of saying. 

He sees him, that much is certain. Even Yuri can’t move faster than the eye, and Ashe has always been observant. 

He sees him, and does not fire. 

Slowly, deliberately, Yuri unsheathes his sword. Ashe swallows hard, gripping the riser of his bow and training it on him at last. 

“Do you truly intend to forfeit your life for House Rowe?” Yuri asks. This has to be a trick. Ashe isn’t stupid. Naive when they first met, sure, telling Yuri of all people to fly back to that cage, but cured of it quickly enough. “There’s still time to change your mind.” 

Ashe’s reply is quiet, his eyes the green of tarnished copper. “I finally understand Lonato. He knew the price of standing for his beliefs… and he paid it gladly.”

‘He taught me to read,’ Ashe had told him when Yuri asked about his late adopted father, and Yuri remembered a wizened finger pointing out letters on a yellowed page, a kindly hand ruffling his hair. The old man may not have been—probably wasn’t—human, but he’s the closest Yuri’s ever had to a father. Whatever john managed to sire him doesn’t count. No sense in wasting a thought on _him_. 

Lonato Gaspard had been a good man. Not a piece of shit like Rowe, though it took Yuri months to believe it. Corruptible in the end, blinded by grief and misguided desire to protect a long-dead son, but a good man nonetheless. 

Ashe stares at him, diamond-hard. “I will do the same.” 

Something here doesn’t add up. Ashe is a knight through and through, but he’s never been a fanatic for his ideals. He thinks, he questions. What could be important enough to skewer his life on?

Lonato Gaspard had fought for faith. But more than that, he’d fought for family. And Yuri remembers: Ashe has two younger siblings. All still living in Gaspard castle town, he presumes. Rowe’s territory. 

What would a man like Rowe do to the family of a defector? It doesn’t bear thinking about. 

So this is it. Ashe’s being here isn’t stupidity, no blind following of a wretched traitor. He’s desperate, and hasn’t Yuri himself said that there are things worth dying for? He’d at least toy with the same if it were his mother. Practically has. Hell, he’d have danced to Aelfric’s tune the whole way down if Rhea hadn’t gotten him first. 

Yuri tests the waters. “I like you,” he tells Ashe. “Don’t be an idiot.” 

Ashe lets loose an arrow, pinpoint enough that Yuri actually has to think about dodging. This will be no simple matter of talking him down. He’s got to tread carefully or someone will die here. 

Yuri narrows his eyes, lets his expression grow cold. “Maybe I’ll just have to smack some sense into you.” 

He strikes, slow and showy. A shallow slice where a plunge through the lungs would finish his opponent, most of the force behind it cut by air resistance. _Figure it out,_ he thinks, heart fluttering in his throat. 

Ashe winces, blood seeping through the blue sleeve of his coat. His eyes flicker to Yuri’s face, and he staggers. Fear lances through Yuri’s gut like an ice shard. He breathes through clenched teeth and reminds himself he knows what he’s doing. So does Ashe, for that matter. He may not be a typical stoic Faerghan statue, but he’s no stranger to injury. No. Ashe is playing up a cut he would have otherwise ignored. 

So the fight becomes a dance. Yuri’s mouth curves at the corners. He moves in for the kill. 

Ashe’s coat ought to help him with this next part. Yuri’s sword punches clean through the leather. He can’t avoid grazing Ashe’s side, but he aims his strike well away from any organs or arteries. The blood will only help sell the story. 

He draws Ashe close as he pulls out his sword. Hand between his shoulder blades as Ashe slumps in his arms. Ragged breath puffs against his neck, words Yuri can’t make out by touch alone. _Go ahead and fall,_ he thinks. _I’ll catch you._

Ashe grasps a fistful of Yuri’s shirt on the way down. “I know this is it,” he says, strained but audible. “But…” His throat bobs. “I don’t want to die.”

And fuck if Yuri’s heart doesn’t crack at that. No matter if it’s all an act. Only a broken world would let a kid like Ashe die alone in this firepit. And sure, he knows the world is broken, but damned if Yuri’s going to let it shatter in this way. 

He’d hated Ashe for a hot churning second that first night in Abyss. Hated his innocence and blithe belief in a kinder Faerghus, his arrogance in thinking he knew where Yuri came from. The anger flashed like liquor in a hot pan, white to blue and gone. That’s all it was. Nothing lasting. Nothing real. And in its wake came certainty. 

There’s not a lot Yuri would die for. He wouldn’t die for this. But he would kill, and he would walk through fire to make sure someone like Ashe would never have to live the kind of life he’s lived. 

Yuri hoists Ashe over his shoulder. He’s heavier than he looks, breathing shallowly, silver bangs hanging in his eyes. 

Now comes the hard part. The Faerghus army is scattering under Byleth’s coordinated assault, but Ashe is nothing to them anyway. The problem lies closer to home. His own allies, Ashe’s old teammates. Yuri doubts they’ll take kindly to some rat they barely know running their friend through. 

Sure enough, there’s whispers when they see Ashe hanging limply in Yuri’s arms. Caspar’s the first to react, clearly ready to charge him. Yuri curses under his breath. Caspar von Bergliez is what you’d call the Goddess’s perfect idiot. He’d already fucked things up for Yuri with the Scorpions because he never stops to _think_ , and now this. 

Byleth’s hand clamps down on Caspar’s shoulder. She pulls him back, her orders quiet and monosyllabic as always. Caspar’s fists clench. Unclench. Fall to his sides. He nods and falls back. 

Yuri ducks to hide a grin. Of course Byleth knows what’s what. She was, after all, Yuri’s original ‘victim.’

He doesn’t stop until he’s behind friendly lines and their ranks close around him. Only then does he let Ashe down, find the pulse beating steadily in his wrist, and whisper, “it’s okay. You’re okay. You’re safe.”

***

“You don’t have to do this,” Ashe tells him when Yuri beelines for him in the aftermath. They’ve camped down somewhere dusty in the Daphnel region while Claude and Judith negotiate terms. It’s a merry time, the army riding high on their victory and newly-minted alliance. But it’s also time to regroup, mourn your dead if you got ‘em, heal your injured. Flayn and Marianne have already triaged the camp, sticking to the hardest-hit like burrs. Ashe just has a few scratches on him as far as injuries go, which is basically Yuri’s speed. He’ll never be a famed healer, but he can still help. 

“Shirt off,” he tells him, and the way Ashe immediately complies would be very distracting under almost any other circumstances. The cut on his arm has already clotted nicely. Yuri cleans it off with a rag soaked in spirits, feeds it a heal, and lets it be. It’ll close up better in the air rather than weltering under bandages, so long as Ashe doesn’t immediately stuff it in his sleeve again. 

The gouge on Ashe’s side is trickier. Not dangerous so long as it doesn’t get infected, but jagged enough to pull if it scars, affecting Ashe’s draw. Ashe hisses when Yuri prods it gently, also not a great sign. 

“I’m sorry,” Yuri says. Look, he’s hurt a lot of people in his day. But it never gets easier if it’s someone he cares about. “I’ll get this taken care of, promise.” It’ll wipe out his stock of healing magic, but it’s not like he’s saving it up for a rainy day. 

Ashe ducks his head. “I was just about to say the same thing.” 

Yuri indulges in the urge to tug on a stray lock of pale hair, basking slightly in the way Ashe leans into his touch. “Oho. And what precisely will you be taking care of?”

“No, I mean…” There’s that sad, determined look again, the one Yuri hates the sight of, no matter how elegantly Ashe carries it. “I’m sorry.”

Yuri pulls back, presses both hands against Ashe’s side. “What the hell for?” he asks gently. Pretty sure he knows the answer, but damn it all. 

“I really.” A huff of air ruffles Ashe’s bangs. “I really made a mess of things, and you got stuck cleaning it up, and I’m sorry.” 

“Bullshit,” Yuri says. Faith flows through his hands, and slowly the wound begins to knit, the redness around it receding. “Hey, look at me.” 

“You don’t need to sugar coat it,” Ashe retorts. “I know why I fought for him. I’d do it again. But I _will_ take responsibility for my actions.” 

“Will anyone be watching your siblings?” Yuri asks. “Now that you’re ‘dead.’” 

Ashe shakes his head. If he’s surprised Yuri figured it out, he doesn’t show it. “No need for them to. How long can I stay dead, though? Before they find out.”

Yuri runs some figures in his head. Rowe’s got no eyes on Garreg Mach, where they will station on their return. “We’ve got until the next sortie at least,” he says. “No guards is excellent news. We’ll whisk those two away in no time.” Some of his mockingbirds have been itching for a fresh assignment. This’ll keep ‘em busy, and keep their noses pretty clean besides. “I think they’ll like it up at the monastery.” 

“Why are you doing this?” Ashe asks. 

Yuri grins, wide and almost real. “We commoners gotta stick together, right?” It goes deeper than that, but the depth of it is harder to put into words. He could have been Ashe. Ashe could have been him, and that _matters_ in a small, all-pervasive way. “Besides,” he adds. “Been a while since I had someone catch on as fast or play along as well as you did.” 

Ashe swear-to-the-Goddess blushes. It’s cute as anything, and what is Yuri supposed to do with _that_? “Of course I noticed what you were doing,” Ashe says. “It’s basically the same trick you pulled with the Professor.” 

“Hah!” Yuri’s smile’s all real now.. “I hoped you’d notice.” He slings an arm around Ashe’s shoulders. “You were magnificent out there. The death scene, especially, was a nice touch.” 

“Well,” Ashe says. “Dying was kind of the point, so I thought, what would it feel like? If I was dying. If it was real.” He looks away. “I… It scares me. Dying. There’s so much I still…” 

“That’s smart,” Yuri says, bumping Ashe’s forehead with his own. “Death is scary. It’s fucking final. You’re scared of it, you fight it. You stay alive.” 

“I intend to,” Ashe says. He’s still bright red, cheeks radiating heat like an aura. 

_Did I do that?_ Yuri thinks. Yeah, no, he knows that’s a stupid question. Maybe he should stop—both asking questions he already knows the answers to and winding Ashe up. 

Winding himself up, too. It’s the compliments. Gotta be, and that sends Yuri’s brain all kinds of dangerous places. Makes him wonder if Ashe’s eyes would go all hazy if he called him beautiful. If he’d duck his head into Yuri’s touch, let Yuri stroke his hair ‘til he’s all relaxed and placid. 

Would the blush streak down Ashe’s chest when he’s fully naked? What would he look like riding him, legs clamped around his sides? What sorts of hungry little noises would he make, speared on Yuri’s cock? 

It’s fantasy, neither pure nor simple. Nothing like realistic. Blame it on the battle he’s still keyed up from, but that doesn’t excuse it. Not when Ashe as good as owes Yuri his life. Not when the scale between them is tilted so hazardously in Yuri’s favor. 

“You did good,” Yuri says, just to torture himself. Up close, Ashe’s eyelashes are a pale, spiderweb silver. Time to put some distance between them, and fast. “All right. Any other injuries I should know about?” 

He honestly can’t fucking tell if he’s imagining the flicker of disappointment on Ashe’s face when he says “no,” and Yuri steps back. 

***

They don’t see much of each other over the next few weeks. Next month will be their first foray into Adrestian territory, and Yuri’s kept busy, between coordinating with Claude and Byleth and taking care of his folks down below. The mission to retrieve Ashe’s siblings goes off without a hitch, save that his sister’s gone sweet on one of the rogues Yuri sent after them. She’s teaching her how to pick locks. 

Ashe seems to breathe easier after that, starts picking up more shifts of kitchen duty the way he did back at school. It’s bittersweet. Yuri knows he and Dedue were close, shared that kitchen cheek to jowl once, and Dedue’s been gone these five years. Still, Ashe is reconnecting with his remaining old friends and that’s something. 

The kitchen’s where Yuri eventually finds him, as he ducks inside to grab a late dinner. Ashe is cleaning his knives, wiping them down and honing them for tomorrow’s work. The sweet smell of caramelized onions still fills the room, and tomorrow’s stew burbles lazily on the stove. 

Yuri helps himself to a crock of onion gratin soup and a hunk of fresh-baked bread, eating over the kitchen counter instead of dragging it all back to the dining hall. Ashe joins him after a few minutes. They chew their food in companionable silence. 

“Did you make this?” Yuri asks as he’s scraping out his bowl. “It’s good.” The broth tastes rich and complex, something in its flavor tugging Yuri’s heart homewards. 

“I did,” Ashe says, beaming. “I’m glad you like it, I thought you might.” 

The familiar flavor finally clicks into place. “Is that dill in there?” It sprouts like a weed out West. Yuri’s mom would grow it in her window box even when they couldn’t afford much of anything else. He still puts it in half his savory dishes, much to the confusion of his Wolves and rogues. 

Ashe nods pensively. “Lonato taught me how to find it in the wild. I’ve got a patch in the greenhouse now.” 

“Does it overrun everything?”

Ashe laughs. “Not as much as the mint!” He dusts off his hands. “Wait here a second. There’s something else I want you to try, okay?”

“Is it a surprise?” Yuri teases. “Shall I look away while you fetch it?”

“Please do,” Ashe says. Damn it, why does he have to be so earnest, and why does the trace of mischief make that earnesty all the better? 

Yuri pulls up a chair and sprawls in it, leaning back, eyes closed. He can hear Ashe shuffling around behind him, the creak of an icebox, an oven door. The clop of boots approaching, slightly heavier than Ashe’s normal step, warning Yuri when he’s about to enter his space. 

“Don’t look yet,” Ashe says. The sweet, jammy scent of baked fruit tickles Yuri’s nostrils. On its heels follows the icy prickle of mint and a melange of spices he can’t identify by scent alone. His mouth waters. Sure, he’ll immediately regret that spice, but fuck it. 

“What is it?” he asks, and a spoon taps his lips in reply. Yuri may know better than to take unknown food from strangers, but Ashe is hardly a stranger. The bite of fruit is firmer than he might expect, tart plums from Morfis baked to sweetness in honey. Cinnamon, nutmeg—the pie spices, with something else nutty and unfamiliar underneath. A flare of heat, cooled by a minted cream or yoghurt. 

“Delectable,” Yuri says, and holds out his hand for the rest of the bowl. When he opens his eyes, Ashe is blushing again, a faint pink somehow just as rewarding as the bright red of Aillel’s aftermath. Yuri takes another bite of the plums, savoring the sweetness of dessert and chef alike. Before he knows it, the bowl is empty. 

“I didn’t get a lot of stuff like that when I was a kid,” Ashe says. “I figured it was the same for you. So I—” 

“Decided to share?” Yuri suggests. That’s a bittersweet kinship between them, too. The brutal subsistence and scarcity of Western Faerghus, though they’re both well away from it now. Even in wartime, they can have _this_ , and it blows Yuri’s mind sometimes. He doesn’t think he’ll ever be used to it. 

“I wanted to thank you,” Ashe says. “For all the—everything.”

“Even your sister’s lousy tastes in ne’er do wells?” 

“That,” Ashe says, “is on her, not on you. She’s old enough to make her own decisions. Besides…” He picks at a loose thread on his shirt, suddenly nervous. “I can’t abide hypocrisy.” 

Yuri only gets a second to stare at him in confusion before Ashe kisses him. He tastes of mint tea and honey, opening to Yuri’s mouth at the least bit of coaxing. Tiny gusts of air and muffled gasps mingle with Yuri’s breath—and Yuri can _not_ be doing this. Not after what Ashe just said. 

“You’re going to push me away again,” Ashe says, “aren’t you?” His expression shutters. Must have been something in Yuri’s stance, the way his shoulders stiffened as he reached to draw Ashe closer and thought better. 

This time, Yuri is the first to look away. “It shouldn’t have to be like this,” he says. 

Understanding dawns. “This isn’t me thanking you. The food, sure, but not this part.”

It’s easy to forget that Ashe came up on the same streets as him. That he also knows the trade and cost of favors. The way you learn not to be indebted to anyone when you’ve got nothing, else the payment will always be more than you’re willing. 

“Good,” Yuri says. “‘Cause if it was, I’d send you packing.” He takes Ashe’s chin in his hands. “You don’t owe me shit. Got it?”

“I know,” Ashe says, even as he’s melting into Yuri’s arms again. He tilts his face into Yuri’s touch, brushes his lips over Yuri’s. And bites him, hard, when he least expects it. 

Yuri yelps. He’s not proud. “What was that for?”

“Not trusting me to know better,” Ashe says, and yeah, okay, that’s on Yuri. 

“You want an apology?” Yuri asks. 

Ashe smiles, all heat and enthusiasm. “No apologies,” he says. “Just your honesty.” 

Yuri can tell he’s not speaking of words. Words lie far too easily, and the notion that bodies are more truthful is another lie. Smile this way, loosen the tension in your spine, breathe deep. They’ll be convinced before you know it. 

No. That’s a lie too, one Byleth caught him out on. ‘ _That smile doesn’t reach your eyes._ ’ The tells are still there for those who care to look, in words and bodies both. Honesty sneaks in when you least expect it.

So, what then? Time to listen to his gut? Heh. Been a while since Yuri bothered. What’s it telling him right now? He reels for a moment in the pounding of his pulse, the rise and fall of Ashe’s chest so close to his. 

“You keep surprising me,” he says. “I like a man who can keep me on my toes.” Yuri keeps cradling Ashe’s face, rewarded by the sight of Ashe’s eyes drifting shut before he seals their mouths together. When Ashe moans, low and lush, Yuri feels it against his teeth, vibrating on his tongue. The sound, the way Ashe doesn’t bother hiding it, carries straight to Yuri’s dick. 

“Gorgeous,” he murmurs, and Ashe sucks in a shaky breath. “Don’t you dare stop.” 

“Yuri…”

“Could get used to you saying my name like that, too.” Like he’s something to be in awe of, naked arousal and pure affection. It’s a little much, a little honest for Yuri’s blood, but he’d bite his tongue before asking Ashe to take it back. 

“Not here,” Ashe says. 

Yuri tweaks his nose. “Afraid someone will walk in? Or is this about getting away from the food in case things go south?”

“The latter,” Ashe says. “If that’s not presumptuous.” 

“‘Presumptuous,’ hah! You sound like I Am Ferdinand Von Aegir.” 

Ashe fluffs up. “It’s a useful word.” 

Yuri kisses his flushed cheek. “Presume away, my friend.” It’s sweet, Ashe worrying on his behalf, even if there’s no need for it. “And lead on.” Somehow Yuri doesn’t think either of them would enjoy the hike back to Yuri’s place right now, cozy den of crime though it may be. 

The Lone Moon air outside is cool on Yuri’s face. It won’t start getting warmer here for another couple of months. After Ailell, he doesn’t miss it. Ashe’s room is on the first floor, not too far from the dining hall. 

“It would take me maybe half a minute to pick that lock,” Yuri says as Ashe fishes out his key. 

“That long?” Ashe says, looking smug. 

He probably is the faster in this case, Yuri wouldn’t be surprised. “Fifteen seconds with practice,” he says. These really are very simple locks, only recently installed as troops instead of students began to fill the monastery. 

The door swings open. Inside is a plain dorm, tidy and scented with dried herbs. A small vase of violets sits on the desk. 

“Come here,” Yuri says, and Ashe goes so eagerly, Yuri can’t resist kissing his brow. “Goddess, you’re so good for me.” 

Ashe shivers under his touch, under his words, and buries his face in the crook of Yuri’s neck. 

“More?” Yuri asks, and Ashe nods against him. 

“Please.”

“Will you do everything I say?” 

Ashe meets his eyes and nods again. 

Unconditional surrender like that… Wouldn’t be the smartest with a stranger. But Ashe is safe here. Yuri will see to it. 

“Good boy,” he says, and Ashe shudders again. “All right. Pull the covers off the bed,” Yuri instructs him, letting his smile turn wicked. “Then strip for me.” He’ll trust Ashe, the way Ashe wanted him to all along. If he gives an order Ashe dislikes, Ashe will say so. He’s always spoken his mind, when the lives of his loved ones weren’t at stake. 

Ashe folds the coverlet neatly, to Yuri’s amusement. Slivers of pale skin taunt Yuri as Ashe loosens the laces of his shirt. A laughing backward glance tells him Ashe is doing it on purpose, taking it slow, watching Yuri’s reactions as much as he can, before he finally pulls the shirt over his head. 

The last time Yuri saw him bare-chested and bare-armed was no time to ogle. Now Yuri takes the opportunity to appreciate the treat presented to him, sleek skin over the subtle swell of muscle befitting an archer. Tiny dark nipples—unmarred by bowstrings, speaking of archery. That armor really does help. Yuri’s mouth waters. 

His boots next. Not nearly as exciting, so Yuri takes the opportunity to shuck his own. Then the trousers, exposing whipcord thighs. Ashe hesitates a moment before hooking his thumbs into the band of his smallclothes and drawing them down. Slight nerves if Yuri doesn’t miss his guess, but not a lethal case of them. A little shyness, appealing in itself when mixed with such genuine desire. 

He stands completely naked. There’s a dimple on the left cheek of his ass, and Yuri wants to _bite_ it. 

“Fuck,” he says. “Four saints in a daisy chain, you’re gorgeous.” 

Ashe turns around, half hard already, and shit, yeah, that blush bleeds all the way down his chest. “So cute.” Yuri keeps talking as he steps forward. “Do the same for me, will you?” The thought of Ashe’s obedience is a heady one. Gentle hands skate across Yuri’s chest, and that’s even better. He can’t wait until they’re skin-on-skin. 

Yuri kisses him as Ashe works on his clothes, clever fingers undoing hooks and laces, finding the hidden catch in his tunic which makes it appear seamless. Small checks of Yuri’s hips guide them toward the bed, until at last they’re both naked, collapsed into the crisp sheets. 

“Hands over your head,” Yuri tells Ashe. “I’ll take care of you.” 

“But…” Ashe’s eyes slide down Yuri’s chest toward his dick.

Yuri pats his cheek. “Don’t worry. I’ll get mine.” He lowers his mouth to Ashe’s ear. “When you’re all sated and boneless. Practically fumbling from exhaustion, but still working _so hard_ just to make me come. Because that’s the kind of man you are.” 

Ashe nods along, rapt. “I’ll do it,” he promises. He worries his lower lip for a moment, then raises his arms. Yuri follows the line of them with his hands, traces the tendons in his wrists. 

“That’s it,” he says. “Relax for me.” 

He starts right below Ashe’s ear, sucking on that tender spot until it bruises and Ashe’s moan hitches behind his teeth. “There,” he says. “That’s all mine.” It’s barely visible beneath the fringe of Ashe’s hair, but the two of them will know. Ashe will remember every time he feels the slight ache of it, even days from now. 

When he looks up, Ashe’s eyes are half-lidded and dark. “Yours, huh?” he says. Almost contemplative. 

“Mm.” Yuri kisses down his chest, bites those nipples, breathes hot over the tight curve of his stomach just to watch him wriggle. Ashe’s thighs are already spread, open and inviting. His cock juts toward the ceiling. Yuri slides his mouth over the head, curling his tongue into the groove beneath, tracing the slit, until Ashe is panting open-mouthed, practically vibrating with the urge to thrust deeper. 

Did he really think Yuri would make it that easy? Ashe whimpers when he pulls up with a teasing lick. “You’re doing so well,” Yuri tells him, stroking his hip. “Keep making those sweet noises, don’t you dare stop.” 

Ashe’s cock won’t see any more excitement for a while there, but that doesn’t mean Yuri’s just leaving him be. Far from it. Two more marks on his tender inner thighs, nicely symmetrical, join the one by his ear. Yuri digs his teeth in before letting go, and Ashe cries out, full-voiced. Just like Yuri told him to. Here’s hoping Ignatz, next door, isn’t home.

His balls next, cupped in Yuri’s hands. Only the softest touches. The lightest scrape of a fingernail leaves Ashe nearly choking on a gasp. “Too much?” Yuri asks. 

“N-no.” Ashe swallows audibly. “It’s a lot, but not too much.”

“Good boy,” Yuri says. “Thank you for telling me. And it sounds like you enjoy this particular brand of ‘a lot,’ don’t you?”

“I.. ah! I do.” A thin, airy noise interrupts Ashe’s sentence, as Yuri sucks one of his balls into his mouth, rolling it over his tongue before releasing it with a pop. He stays there for some time, until it seems as though Ashe can’t take it anymore. When his balls start to draw up, Yuri pulls them back down, and the noise Ashe makes in that moment sounds actually halfway to angry. 

“Not yet,” Yuri tells him. 

He takes pity eventually, sliding his lips from the base of Ashe’s cock up toward the head again. Even then, he waits until Ashe’s voice cracks on a “please,” before swallowing him down, rubbing a single fingertip over the rim of his hole. No more than that without proper slick and Ashe’s assent. That can come later, but this will make it more intense when Ashe comes. 

Ashe murmurs his name, and when Yuri looks up, his hands are still above his head, tangled together in perfect compliance. It’s heady as fireworks, gleeful as thieves’ luck in a heist, satisfying as a close-call battle survived. 

_You’re stunning_ , Yuri thinks, as he pins Ashe’s hips to the bed and takes his cock, gagging-deep. Ashe is shaking all over, low groans rising in pitch, one heel rabbit-kicking the bedsheets. 

He comes hard in a series of spurts, and Yuri hums in satisfaction, chasing him through it until the pleasure turns to discomfort. Panting and dishevelled, eyes glazed, Ashe tugs on Yuri’s arm until he scoots up, wrapping around him as soon as he’s in reach. 

He’s taller than Yuri now. Funny how that suddenly hits with them lying side by side, equalized by gravity. 

Ashe kisses his shoulder, rubbing his face against it like a cat. “I’ven’t forgotten,” he says, slurry and warm. “Gimme a second, and I’ll do it just like you wanted.” 

“So thoughtful,” Yuri says. “Catch your breath, take your time, sweetheart. I’ll be here when you do.” 

Ashe chuckles muzzily. “You better be.”

“Mm.” Yuri runs both hands over his back. “I’d be missing out otherwise.” 

Ashe clings to him for a few moments longer, then slides down to rest his head on Yuri’s knee and eye his cock like a challenge. He’s not fancy when he gets down to business—a kiss to the shaft, fingers curled loosely around the base, mouth open and slurping down. Yuri doesn’t have to tell him to wrap his lips around his teeth, or how not to choke. He’s done this before, even if he’s not as practiced as Yuri himself. And really, who is? 

“You’re doing beautifully,” Yuri tells him, and Ashe groans in pleasure at his words. Ashe’s hair tickles Yuri’s stomach, and Yuri itches to sink his hands into it. “May I?” he asks, tapping the top of Ashe’s head. Ashe ‘mhm’s in agreement almost before Yuri’s done speaking. 

He doesn’t pull very hard, just enough to give Ashe some opposition. His hair is downy soft, starting to curl around his face again in sweaty corkscrews, all fashion undone. “So pretty like this.” Ashe’s lips tighten around him, cheeks hollowing as he sucks. “So good for me.” 

It’s getting harder to keep his cool, to focus on Ashe without succumbing to the heat of his mouth, the liquid glide of his tongue. His quickened breath, his red cheeks, the way he gropes for Yuri’s ankle and _holds_. 

Yuri slides a hand to the back of his neck, squeezing his nape until Ashe shudders and moans, arching into his touch. His mouth bobs, and the head of Yuri’s cock briefly hits the back of his throat. Ashe swallows with a gurgle, pulls back, tries again. 

“You’ve got this,” Yuri tells him. “Just take it slow and you’ll be fine.”

Ashe makes a noise which Yuri can only interpret as ‘bitch, please,’ and takes it the opposite of slow. 

Yuri laughs, the cleanest laugh he’s felt bubbling in his chest in a long, long time. It wells within him, giddy pleasure flowing into light and tightening in his balls, and he’s coming, ears filled with the sound of rushing wind, resolving into the heaving of his own breath. 

There’s no time to warn Ashe, save for a tug on his hair, which he ignores. Spit and come dribble from his mouth as he takes the thrust Yuri can’t quite hold back. His eyes crinkle at the corners as he grins, full-mouthed and satisfied. 

“You good?” Yuri asks when he can think again. 

Ashe mumbles something indistinct, and it’s Yuri’s turn to pull him up close. No surprise that Ashe is a cuddler, though Yuri himself’s gonna need some space soon if he keeps it up. 

“What about you?” Ashe asks eventually. 

Yuri blinks and stretches. “What about me?”

“You asked how I was doing, but you…” 

Something clenches inside Yuri’s chest. 

“Oh,” Ashe says quietly, tracing Yuri’s lips. “You just made your surprised face again.” 

“Don’t get that question a lot.” It’s such a pathetic, stupidly vulnerable thing to say. Yuri can take care of himself. He’s got his own ass and a few more besides, and everyone knows it. 

Fire flickers in Ashe’s eyes. “Then let me change that,” he says. Vulnerability doesn’t frighten him. Not Yuri’s, and not his own. He’s brave, Yuri thinks, the kind of quiet valor which comes of not being broken. 

_This is what I fight to protect_. 

“I’m good,” Yuri says, and it aches, and it’s honest.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the following kink meme prompt:
>
>> Yuri/Ashe, hurt-comfort into praise kink sex.
>> 
>> I don't mind how the hurt/comfort is done, whether it's battle injury etc. One of them takes care of the other and is hesitant to progress anything until the other just demands they fuck.
>> 
>> Praise kink is a must. You can go heavy into d/s or make it undertones, whichever works best with your style.
>> 
>> If you decide to write this, thank you! And I hope you have fun <3
> 
> This, er, follows the prompt somewhat loosely but hopefully still captures the spirit in which it was intended.
> 
> And hey, at least my title's not a song lyric this time either!
> 
> The presence of dill in everything is a memento of my own Ukrainian childhood. Faerghus isn't actually Eastern Europe, except sometimes it totally is. The plum dessert is a modified version of this [recipe](https://www.stonyfield.com/recipes/roasted-plums-with-mint-lime-yogurt-sauce) here. Minus the citrus, which I'm pretty sure doesn't grow in Fodlan. 
> 
> Thanks to [Letterblade](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Letterblade) for beta, as always! <3


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